


Muddiness is Next to Foolishness

by alwaysthrowsscissors



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Arguing, Bottom Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Brief homophobia, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Comedy, Community: spn-kinkmeme, Dean Winchester Being an Asshole, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester First Time Having Sex, Dirty Sex, Dirty Talk, Fighting Kink, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Frustration, Humor, Like literal dirty sex, Little Shit Sam Winchester, M/M, Mud, Mud Wrestling Kink, Murphy's Law, Porn With Plot, Pranks, Prompt Fill, Spit As Lube, Top Sam Winchester, Wet & Messy, Wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26034733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysthrowsscissors/pseuds/alwaysthrowsscissors
Summary: Drawn by strange accounts of mischief, pranks, and other odd occurrences, the Winchesters embark on what quickly becomes one of their most disastrous hunts.  Everything that can go wrong, does go wrong. In the end, there's really only one way to work out their frustration...and it's muddy.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 17
Kudos: 76
Collections: Supernatural Kink Meme





	1. Chapter 1

Dean turned to face Sam, hanging up from a rather terse sounding call to Bobby.

Sam looked up at him quizzically from where he sat against the headboard of one of the twin beds of their dismal motel room, surrounded by books opened to various pages, laptop in its rightful place.

“Well?” Sam asked stretching.

“Apparently, we’re keeping him from his dinner and he opined that we should be able to sort things out for ourselves,” Dean said, lips pursed.

Normally, armed with their dad’s notebook, dodgy motel WIFI, and years of experience, they rarely needed to call Bobby anymore. This case, however, had them both stumped. They were drawn to the sleepy town of Livonia, Missouri by a newspaper article entitled _April Fools in July?_ concerning complaints of unexplainable pranks plaguing the 74 inhabitants. After interviewing a third of them, it seemed that they had a trickster in their midst.

The problem was, the townspeople were describing and showing the hunters evidence of actual, tangible shenanigans as opposed to stories of warped reality like conjuring images and objects from thin air. Brushing up on trickster research, they had to drop that lead and go back to the drawing board, which was remaining blank.

“Did he have any ideas?”

“He said it might be a hobgoblin, whatever the fuck that is,” Dean said, flopping onto the adjacent bed.

“Christ, of course!” Sam jumped up, grabbed his bag, and dug out the one book he didn’t yet consult; _The Encyclopedia of Fairies, Elves, Pixies and Sprites_. “How the hell didn’t I think of that?”

“Maybe you’re losing your touch,” Dean winked causing Sam to scowl.

He leafed through it until he found the section he was after. “Myths and legends of hobgoblins vary widely with many folklores claiming distinct differences,” Sam read.

“Oh…great,” Dean interjected dully.

“Some claim that hobgoblins are helpful creatures, who sneak into homes in the night and do chores, such as laundry and dishes. Other lore indicates mischievous intent bordering on harmful, dangerous trickery.”

Sam continued to read the chapter quietly. “The consensus is that they love pranks and causing trouble for humans, so this must be what we’re dealing with.” He held up the book to show Dean the illustration.

“Aww look at the little guy!” Dean exclaimed at the little hairy gnome thing. “How do we kill it?”

“It doesn’t really say. You can send them away with clothing, but they will just go on to harass other people.” Sam tossed the book on the bed with the rest and stretched again, rubbing his eyes.

“Well, how bad can it be; a few pranks here and there?” Dean took his shoes off, preparing for bed.

“The book said if they get pissed off, they can terrorize people to death despite their size,” Sam yawned gathering up the books.

“Judging by some of the accounts we got, I guess it does sound kind of dangerous.”

Sam nodded, thinking of the postal worker who broke his leg while roofing, because his ladder moved to the other side of the house.

“We’ll have to just bring everything we got and hope something will gank it,” Dean said.

“Let’s go around town tomorrow, see what more we can find out to track the thing down.”

“Yup, after breakfast though?” Dean looked at his brother hopefully.

“After breakfast,” Sam agreed smirking.

***

Sam awoke to the sound of Dean swearing and clamouring around the motel room.

“What the fuck, Dean?”

“It’s noon! Didn’t you set the alarm?”

“I did, I guess it didn’t go off.” Sam looked at the alarm clock which was completely blank. Running his hand down the cord he found the problem.

“Did you unplug it?”

“Why would I unplug it, Sam?” He growled impatiently.

Sam shrugged. “It’s not the end of the world, we’re just getting started later than we wanted.”

“But…we missed breakfast,” Dean whined, pouting.

Sam rolled his eyes; of course he spent all that time researching last night while Dean prioritized investigating the breakfast hours of the local diner.

“Well, I guess you’re getting lunch then.”

Dean grumbled, stalking to the bathroom while Sam went about getting dressed.

“Come on man; did you hide my shoe?”

Dean emerged wiping toothpaste from his mouth. “No? That’s not even funny.”

“I can’t find my other one, help me look.”

The brothers looked under the beds and all around the tiny room, eventually concluding that they were both missing their left shoes.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I bet it’s happening to us already,” Dean said whirling around as if he would catch the monster in action.

Sam sighed and headed for the door. “Come on, we’ll have to wear our FBI shoes.”

The boy’s slipped into their far less comfortable, far more shiny dress shoes and headed to the diner. They ordered and chatted with the middle-aged waitress, inquiring innocently about the article they read. She mentioned that about two weeks ago, all the salt in the salt dispensers were replaced with sugar, and vice versa, overnight.

“It really was just a nuisance, but I’ve heard way worse things happening to other folks,” She continued, snapping her gum. “Phil Johnson over there on 5th Ave has been in the hospital for a week with a concussion because there was all this jello on his kitchen floor. Ed Franklyn nearly had a heart attack when he found a mannequin dressed up as a clown in his closet, and just this week I heard about Nancy O’Sullivan breaking her hip because someone stole her porch; her whole damn porch! Must be some damn teenagers, maybe from a neighbouring town, but it’s got folks pretty anxious. Anyway, I better get your order in, fellas.”

“Sounds like it’s getting more reckless with it’s pranks the longer it’s here,” Sam ventured after the waitress walked away, shivering slightly at the mention of clowns.

Dean was chuckling. “Jello on the floor; classic.”

Sam glared at him, taking a map of the city he had photocopied at the library the day prior, from his jacket pocket. He had marked x’s on areas of the town with reported pranks.

“Look at this.” He pushed the map in front of Dean after making a mark on 5th street. “The occurrences are mainly concentrated on the north side of town.”

“Yah and the motel is around here, making the latest pranks happening more and more south,” Dean pointed out.

“Hmmm…well that’s a good place to start poking around again, see if anybody has seen anything as of last night.”

When the waitress returned with their order, Dean asked where the last incident she heard of us was located.

“Right here honey,” she pointed on the map, “near the mechanic, Herb. That was just two nights ago.” It was close to the motel on the south side of town making Sam feel more confident that they were on the right track.

“What happened?” Sam asked.

The waitress paled. “Go talk to Herb, he saw the whole thing. Poor Harrison is still in the ICU.”

***

Sam regarded the thick, long legs sticking out from under an old mustang, and hoped that if Herb’s body matched, he would turn out to be a gentle giant.

“You Herb?” Dean asked tapping the bottom of Herb’s boot with his toe.

“Who’s asking?” Grumbled a low voice, muffled slightly by the undercarriage.

“I’m Dean this is my partner Sam, we’re reporters following up on an article about trouble around town,” Dean rattled off one of their standard fabrications. “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Herb rolled out from under the car and stood up, wiping his hands on a dirty rag and looking the boys up and down. “Partners huh, what are you, fairies?” He growled, eyes lingering on their dress shoes, awkwardly paired with their typical jeans and flannel.

“Uh…just work partners.” Sam said trying to quell the flush threatening his cheeks, looking up at the, as it turns out, not-so-gentle giant.

“What do you want to know?” Herb crossed his arms

“The waitress at the diner said something happened to your neighbour Harrison?” Dean continued.

“Which one; brunette?”

“No, the blonde, Francine,” Sam said, earning an impressed look from Dean who seemed to always have a mental block when it came to waitresses’ name tags.

“Oh Franny, yah she’s something like a gossip around here, sure she talked your ear off,” Herb said, relaxing a little and learning against the car.

Sam and Dean nodded, waiting for Herb to go on. He was still sizing them up, but Sam knew Dean had his assertive, confident, yet harmless vibe going, and he was sporting his patented trustful, puppy face.

“Well, two days ago, I reckon, Harrison was using the chainsaw all day, cuttin down the tree in his front yard, there.” He nodded towards the big stump in front of the house across from the shop. “Then, in the middle of the night, I woke up and heard the chainsaw going again and I was right pissed trying to get my shut eye, you know?”

“I hear you, man,” Dean encouraged.

“So, I hauled it up and went over to Harry’s garage and there he was in his pajamas, the chainsaw was going off on the ground, all on its own. When he got near it to turn it off, the damn thing chewed him up something awful, slashing deep into his thigh and across his arms; watched it pop one of his hands clean off.”

“Is this the first incident that happened on this street?” Sam asked.

“Nope, not even the first to happen to ol’ Harry,” Herb continued. Apparently, Franny wasn’t the only one with a penchant for gossip. “Up the street there, a few doors down, that lady kept getting the whole town’s mail, fliers, phone books and all; the mail carrier had no idea how it was happening. The scrawny guy next door to me here, all his clothes were replaced with big-n-tall shit that would fit me.” He chuckled. “And then there’s the fella on the other side of me; his wife ran off on him, but come to think of it, that may have just been on account of his halitosis and wandering eye, not some prankster.” He trailed off pensively.

“What else happened to Harrison?” Sam pressed.

“Well, he said something about catching someone stealing his Tupperware lids of all things. Some little guy. But Harry is a shoot first, ask questions later type of fellow, so he didn’t get much of a look at him before he ran off.”

“Any neighbours west of you on this street mention anything?” Dean said, attention drifting back to the conversation from admiring the car during Herb’s ramblings.

Herb considered “Hmmm…don’t think so. I’d probably know about it too; people usually come to my shop to shoot the shit,” he said with a note of pride.

“Ok, thanks a lot, man. We’ll be back if we have any more questions.” Sam smiled and shook Herb’s hand.

Herb waved them off as they started their walk back towards the motel.

“So, this end of the street hasn’t been hit. Stake out tonight?”

“Yah, that’s what I’m thinking,” Sam agreed. “Seems like it’s nocturnal.”

“Looks like you were right about the vengefulness thing; that guy got severely fucked up after shooting at the little fucker.”

“Let’s hope we catch it before it turns psycho on anyone else,” Sam said, raking a hand through his hair, getting a sinking feeling that this hunt wasn’t going to be as easy he had anticipated.

***

It was 5am and the hunters had been sitting on a picnic table in the parkette at the west end of Herb’s street since dusk. Dean was seriously grumpy and hungry as fuck; his stomach punctuated the silence with a growl.

“When is this fucking thing showing up?” He grumbled, thinking of the pie in the motel mini-fridge that he took to-go from dinner, regretting not just eating two slices at the table.

Sam shrugged and continued his silent stare down the street. Dean looked at the younger man and noticed his usual signs of fatigue; squinting eyes, set jaw, a general air of impatience with him.

Several more minutes passed, when they heard a clatter two houses away that was unmistakably trash cans tipping over. Dean unholstered his gun and started running towards the noise, his little brother close behind him. They found one of the cans shaking and Dean put a hand up, indicating for Sam to stay still. He quickly grabbed the can and dumped it out, revealing a pile of kitchen scraps and a remarkably fat racoon. Both men relaxed and looked at each other disappointedly.

Watching the racoon waddle away with a rotisserie chicken carcass in its mouth, Dean almost missed the small creature scampering up the street towards the parkette.

“There!” Sam shouted, jabbing Dean in the ribs to get his attention.

They pelted after it and were gaining on it when a telephone pole came crashing down in front of them, blocking their path.

“Arg FUCK!” Dean swore, skidding to a halt, throwing his arm in front of Sam’s chest instinctively.

In the short time it took for them to clamber over the pole, Sam beating Dean to the other side with his freakishly longer legs, the hobgoblin was streaking towards the north end of town.

“I’ll go after it; you go get the car in case it gets much further!” Sam yelled, sprinting up the main street after the monster, lights blinking on in the quiet houses all around him.

Dean hauled ass towards the motel, cursing his restrictive shoes. He reached in his pocket when he was in sight of Baby’s beautiful curves; no keys. He hastily patted the rest of the pockets on his person and came up short. Dean swore, got down on his knees, and felt around her undercarriage, looking for the set of keys he stowed there for emergencies or if he and Sam got split up. He found them (inwardly thanking his past self for warding them against demons, ghosts, and apparently goblins), got into the car, and sped off towards his brother.

He found Sam at the edge of town, covered in sweat, hands on knees, panting. He rolled down the window and crept up next to him. "Hey, little bro; didn't catch him?" Dean teased. 

“Fuck off, what took you so long?” Sam snapped

“Son of a bitch made me lose my keys. Where did it go?”

“It kept going north out of town. Christ, that thing is fast.” Sam straightened up, walked around the car, and plopped into the passenger’s side.

“What’s out there?”

“Woods. There’s a huge nature conservation area. That must be where it’s burrow or cave or whatever it lives in is.” Sam said tipping his head back, catching his breath.

“Get some shut-eye and head back out?” Dean asked wistfully, noting the first hints of dawn creep up from the horizon; regrettably, he already knew the answer.

Sam shook his head. “No way. We need to track this thing before it gets a chance to get back into town.”

“Awesome.” Dean said sarcastically, sliding Baby into drive. A whole forest and they didn’t even know for sure what they were looking for. This was definitely going to be more difficult than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to outoftheashes for giving this a look over for me! Snuggles bb
> 
> The full prompt will be posted at the end of the fic to avoid spoiling the fun! Since hobgoblins aren't part of SPN canon, I had to go full Sammy mode and dive into the lore, which was an added layer of awesomeness during the writing process. Let me know what you think so far!


	2. Chapter 2

They didn’t make it a half mile up the road before Baby suddenly lurched, made a slamming noise, and slanted violently, causing Sam to slide across the bench seat into Dean.

“Dude, get _off_ me!” Dean growled, trying to control his swerving.

“I can’t help it,” Sam said, pushing himself away from Dean as he got her off the road.

Once parked, they quickly found the culprit: a flat tire. More accurately, a _shredded_ tire.

“What the fuck did she even hit?” Dean said incredulously, looking down the road with his hands on his head. That amount of damage would have taken a ton of jagged debris and he saw nothing.

“I’ll dig out the spare,” Sam sighed.

“No, _I’ll_ do it.” Dean pushed him aside, opened the trunk, and started passing a glowering Sam weapons to hold. After all of their guns, knives, shells, grenade launcher, and duffel bags were out of the trunk, Dean opened the carpeted hatch to where the spare was stored.

Two hours later, Dean was coated in sweat, pissy as hell, and almost missing a hand, just like Harry, due to the jack inexplicably slipping out of place during the tire change. He threw the shredded tire in the car and began replacing the weaponry, swearing heavily and muttering under his breath. It was way too early for this shit.

“Alright, get in _princess_.”

Sam scoffed. “You didn’t let me help; what do you want from me?”

“Just buckle up this time, will ya?” Dean caught Sam rolling his eyes and shook his head, sliding the keys in the ignition.

_Rn rn rn rn rn_

“Noooo, girl come on.” He pleaded and tried again.

_Rnn rn rn rn_

Taking a deep breath in an attempt to control his anger, he tried one more time, but she still wouldn’t turn over.

“Son of a _bitch_!” Dean swore, punching his fists down on the steering wheel. Sam was wisely staying quiet and still as Dean slammed the car door in a fury.

He poked around under the hood for another hour until he had to concede that nothing was apparently wrong with her.

“That fucking thing got Baby… _Baby_ Sam,” Dean said in a defeated tone when Sam finally joined him. Absolute goddamn sacrilege. 

“I guess we have to head out on foot then,” Sam clapped him on the shoulder.

***

“Christ, my feet are killing me,” Dean whined.

Sam regarded his brother’s sun burnt face sullenly. He had been expending a great deal of cognitive energy trying to ignore his own growing blisters. 

It had taken an hour and a half to walk to the forest edge, another hour and a half to walk back to the car once they realized they had somehow forgotten to load their guns, an hour to argue back and forth on the way back about whose fault it was, and finally, the tree line was back in their sights after a half hour of surly silence. 

“We better find this fucking thing quick. I don't know how much more of this I can take,” Dean growled, heading into the woods after Sam. 

“I don’t know how much more of your bitching I can take,” Sam grumbled quietly, pushing branches out of his way as he wove through the trees.

“What was that?” Dean snapped at Sam’s back. 

“Nothing. Just look around for signs of it.” 

“What signs are we looking for?” 

Sam stopped dead and turned towards Dean, thinking hard.

“Uhhhh...something about...tracks?”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “What no ‘ _so get this_?'"

“Umm...possibly scratches or chew marks in trees.” He was coming up blank; it was as if everything he read about hobgoblins was erased from his mind. 

“So we're looking for a vague beaver, cool Sammy,” Dean said with disdain, throwing his hands up. “You wanna pull out your phone and take a peek at the ol’ internet? See if it rings any bells champ?” 

Sam glared at him but acquiesced. “No service…”

“Fucking great, Sam. You forget all the lore and we’re wandering around this godforsaken forest with no service.” He shoved Sam’s shoulder. 

“Maybe if you helped me research instead of worrying about your fucking stomach, you could help me remember.” Sam’s hands balled into fists, his temper getting the better of him. The feeling of his memory slipping made him feel vulnerable, stupid even, and Dean being a dick about made him want to throttle him. Ultimately, he thought better of retaliating; the last thing they needed was to waste their limited energy on fighting. 

“Ok, ok, let's just keep going and hope something jogs your memory.” Dean grumbled, pushing past Sam. 

Sam followed glowering, jaw set, feeling raindrops beginning to fall on his sun-warmed cheeks. He couldn't help trying for the last word. 

“Hey, Dean?” 

“What?” Dean called absently over his shoulder. 

“Shove me again, and I'll kick your fucking ass.”

***

Just as Sam was wondering how long they were trudging around in the pouring rain (it must have been several hours by now), he slipped and fell on his ass, much to the crowing delight of Dean. He scowled, feeling the thick mud soak down to the skin, and used a tree branch to help himself up. 

Looking at the tree more closely, he noticed a growth that looked distinctly like an elbow jutting out from the bark. 

“I think we’re going around in circles,” Sam said flatly, pointing to the tree. “I definitely fell here last time,” he recalled, rubbing his coccyx. 

“You've got to be kidding me,” Dean groaned, looking around, grin slipping off his face. 

Sam mopped his soaked hair out of his eyes just in time to see something furry darting away. 

“There!” Sam started after the creature, slipping and sliding in the accumulating mud. He didn't get far before he stepped on a stick the end of which promptly sprang up and hit him in the face. “ _FUCK!”_

Wiping the dirt and blood from his lip, he realized that Dean had not followed him. He was back under the tree in the mud patch, spreadeagled on his face, socked foot hanging in the air. 

“Sammy I- I lost my shoe,” Dean whined feebly, wiping his muddy face with his sleeve and sitting up to yank his shoe out of the muck.

Sam smirked, suppressing laughter while he helped his brother up, getting covered in even more mud in the process. 

“This is fucking ridiculous, we're never going to fucking find it.” Dean spat dirt out of his mouth once on his feet.

“Come on, it went that way.” 

They hurried through the trees in the direction the hobgoblin ran as dusk began to settle. They finally stumbled upon it under a thick canopy of trees, distractedly feasting on an adult deer. Sam quietly raised his gun first, rubbed the rain from his eyes, and pulled the trigger; it jammed. Dean followed suit and swore loudly when his gun also failed. 

The hobgoblin froze, lifted it’s head, and slowly turned towards the brothers. The last vestiges of daylight gleamed in the creature’s beady, goat-like eyes above a squashed snout. It’s dozens of thin long teeth jutted over it’s jaw, tangled with deer gristle and dripping with blood. It stood roughly five feet tall and was covered in a sleek black coat of hair except for it’s foot-long, bare digits. It moved its jaw from side to side, scraping it’s teeth together to make a shrill, piercing sound.

“Jesus _Christ_ , that is _not_ the cute thing from the book!” Dean yelled somewhat panicky over the screeching. He unsheathed a knife and hurled it at the creature. Having misthrown it, the knife pommel hit the hobgoblin between the eyes which had the immediate effect of completely pissing it off. The last thing they saw before being knocked out, was the goblin hurtling towards them, gnashing it's teeth.

***

“ _He's always willing to be second best, a perfect lodger, a perfect guest. Beautiful loser, read it on the wall, and realize, you just can't have it all,_ ”

“Would you _shut_ the _FUCK UP_!” Sam snapped, twisting against his bindings. 

_“You just can't have it allllllll_ ,” Dean finished the chorus extra obnoxiously, warbling the last note into Sam's ear. 

From what Dean could tell from the height of the cloud-covered moon, it was roughly 2am, meaning they had been tied to the tree for close to six hours. The only thing keeping him sane from hunger was torturing Sam with incessant singing. 

“Try your lighter on the ropes again,” Sam said waspishly. 

“I've tried a million times, it won't light. Besides, the ropes are soaked through now, genius.” Dean sighed. 

“There has to be a way. We’ve always been able to get out of being bound.” Sam began thrashing about again like they did before they gave up several hours ago.

“Sure bro, keep trying. I'm sure you'll slip right out this time,” Dean snarked.

“Well, what would you suggest? Just wait for it to be hungry again and come finish us off?” 

Dean let out a grunt of frustration. Truth is, he was getting pretty worried. They'd been without sleep, food, or water for over 24 hours. Their wrists were tied tightly behind their backs and they had ropes binding them to the tree from shoulder to hip. It had been hours since the rain had actually felt soothing on his sunburnt skin; he was now chilled to the bone despite the intense summer heat that day. He could tell by Sam’s desperate, illogical idea and his lost temper that his brother was also running on empty.

“One of us has to get our hands free to loosen the rope and go from there,” Dean offered.

“No shit, It's too fucking taut,” Sam dismissed and sighed heavily. “I think I know what I need to do, but the last three times I did it, I dislocated my shoulder.” 

“Well, so what? We have officially run out of options.” 

Sam mumbled something that sounded like him psyching himself up and began rocking back and forth, bumping into Dean’s shoulder. Dean craned his neck to see him shuffling his wrists under his ass; thank god for those long Sasquatch arms. 

The first win they had all day was that Sam’s shoulders remained intact. Dean heard his little brother huff a sigh of relief and noted the clear leeway in the ropes that held them to the tree. 

“Good job Sammy,” Dean said genuinely, feeling hopeful. 

“You hold still while I try to get out.” 

Dean obeyed, feeling the bindings tighten against his chest as Sam took all the slack available to wiggle and slide his body down the trunk and out from under the ropes. After untying his wrists and taking a long stretch (probably longer than usual as retribution for the singing), he crouched and easily freed Dean. 

“I need to end that little bastard,” Dean said, rubbing his newly liberated wrists.

“I can't believe I didn't wreck my arms,” Sam said, stretching again. He suddenly froze. “Oh my god...what if….”

“What if what?” Dean frowned, watching Sam in the weak, watery moonlight, hugging himself to try to warm up.

“What if we had that bit of luck because I said it out loud? Like, anticipated the next shitty thing that could happen.” 

“You could be right,” Dean raised his eyebrows, impressed. “We _did_ run into it after I said we’ll never find it.”

“Exactly,” Sam said, eyes lighting up. 

“Well geez Sam-my, it sure seems we are nev-er go-ing to catch this thing. It will pro-bab-ly out run us all night,” Dean enunciated in a carrying, stage-acting tone. 

Sam snorted laughter as Dean began looking around to see if the theory held true. Sure enough, moments later, they heard their captor slithering towards them in the darkness. Since their weapons were either lost, not working, or stolen by the creature, Dean had no choice but to pick up a stick to defend himself as Sam did the same.

“We’re definitely going to miss hitting it with these sticks!” Sam shouted in a rush, as the hobgoblin lunged into view. Sam swung the stick like a bat and struck the creature hard, causing it to crumple. Dean then lept on it, seized a large rock, and began beating it in the head, causing it to shriek deafeningly and claw at his sides and back. 

“You-prob’ly-won't-die-from-this-you-fucking-sadistic-creepy-ugly-fucker!” Dean yelled in between blows, feeling the goblin bucking and thrashing, until he felt the long fingers of the hobgoblin cease scrabbling against him. Looking at his handy work, the hobgoblin’s head was a caved-in pile of mush and teeth; it was over. He was pretty sure this was the most satisfying kill of his hunting career.

“Thank Christ.” Sam groaned, throwing down his stick.

Dean staggered to his feet, panting and wiped his bloody, brain-covered hands on his mud-caked pants. “Let’s get the ever-loving fuck out of here.” 

***

Despite the successful murder of the creature, the rain persisted and Sam was about ready to curl into a ball and sleep in the middle of the nature conservatory until dawn. He was following Dean who was weaving between the trees and brush, hoping to god that he knew where he was going in the darkness. An exhausted, irritable silence hung between them. It was when they passed the elbow tree when Sam felt his feet slipping out from under him once more, ass hitting the now wide, deep mud pile, exacerbated by their hours of circling the area. Sam swore causing Dean to whip around. 

“Come on, stop fucking around,” Dean sighed, fear leaving his face, replaced by annoyance. 

“Are you joking? Like I want to be down in this shit again.” He clapped his hands down in the mud in frustration. 

“I dunno Sam, all I see is a big bitch who should know how to stay on his goddamn feet.” Dean growled unkindly. 

“Fuck you, Dean,” Sam snapped, trying to get up and failing, shoes refusing to find the required friction. Fuck his stupid asshole of a brother, fuck this fucking forest. 

“Just get your ass up. Can you manage that kiddo?” Dean turned and started walking away.

Maybe it was that last word or his condescending tone, or perhaps the horrendous day, Dean teasing and pushing him around, or his deep level of fatigue. Maybe it was everything compounding together in the rain and dirt that caused Sam to become absolutely filled with rage. The clump of mud left his hand without a second thought and hit Dean square in the back of the head. 

He turned around slowly, and Sam was reminded wildly of the hobgoblin. 

“You little, fucking brat,” Dean said through gritted teeth. 

“What are you going to do about it, Dean,” Sam spat, recklessly waving his hand at Dean, splattering him with more filth. 

Something unmistakably snapped in Dean. Sam was suddenly flattened into the squashy mud as Dean tackled him, fist sinking into his stomach. Too winded to do much, he head-butted Dean in the chin. Using Dean’s temporary stunned state to his advantage, Sam shoved him off, clambered around to straddle him, and landed a jab to his ribs. 

“Ugh, you dirty-fighting fucker!” Dean tried to punch Sam in the face but he blocked it with his forearm, shoving forward to pin his arms down. 

“Call me kiddo again, you dick.” Sam hovered over Dean just being able to make out his fierce eyes in the darkness.

“Get the fuck off me, you big ape!” Dean writhed and bucked his hips upwards violently, knocking Sam off. Dean twisted his arm behind his back and used his chest to press Sam into the mud, increasing the angle and causing Sam’s arm to erupt in pain. 

“Call uncle before I break your arm, little brother,” Dean growled in his ear, sending shivers down his spine that he was pretty sure was due to the pain. Sam swallowed his yells, along with some mud. He’d rather let his arm break than let Dean win this time. 

“Fuck you!” Sam repeated, kicking his heel back into Dean’s shin, hard. This relaxed Dean’s grip just enough for Sam to slide himself around in the mud, gain control of his arm, and shove Dean on his back again, throwing a mud-slick forearm against his throat. This time, he pressed his knees deep into the muck on either side of Dean’s upper thighs, sufficiently immobilizing him. It also had the effect of pressing their groins firmly together. Sam shook his head to try to divert his attention to the task at hand. 

Dean was glaring furiously up at him gurgling slightly, trying to twist his shoulders and hips which only increased the pressure between them. 

“Tap out before I choke you out, big brother,” Sam smirked, breathing deeply. Looking down at him through his hair, Sam couldn't help but notice Dean looked...good getting choked in the mud; hot even. 

Dean hissed out a _fuck you_ before lifting a hand and swatting Sam’s hip. Sam grinned, releasing Dean’s throat and placed a hand on either side of his head, sinking into the mud so their chests were pressed together. Sam watched his brother’s lips open wide as he gasped for air. Riding the wave of Dean’s chest as he caught his breath, he licked his own lips. _Damn_ why did he look so pretty pinned down at his mercy. It was then very easy to shove his lips against Dean’s until he felt his brother go ridgid underneath him. When he broke the kiss, Dean immediately had a retort: “What the _fuck_ Sam! what are you-”

Sam roughly kissed him again to shut him up. Dean balled his fists in his coat, yanking at it to try to get him off. His lip smarted from getting hit with the stick but he didn't care. 

“Come on Dean,” Sam crooned, grinding his hips into Dean, licking his dirty ear, feeling heady with dominating his brother. At this, Dean’s breath hitched and he was, for once, speechless. 

Sam grabbed Dean’s jaw with a dripping hand and kissed him again. He was surprised when he felt his brother deepen the kiss, pressing up into his lips roughly, making Sam’ teeth bruise his lips. His hands were now grabbing and clutching him instead of fighting against him. 

Dean was trying to sit up again but Sam shoved him back down, licking a line up his throat and biting under his jaw. The taste of dirt and his brother’s sweat made him moan low in the back of his throat.

“Just fucking take it, brother.” Sam growled against his neck. Dean groaned and arched his hips, pressing their clothed cocks together hard. He yanked Sam’s muddy hair, forcing his head back so he could shove their mouths back together. Sam opened his mouth to bite down on Dean’s bottom lip. He felt his brother begin to get hard and grinned, releasing the bite to lick his plush lips. “You like this, jerk?” 

“Fuck yah, bitch, but let me steer,” Dean panted and darted his tongue out to meet Sam’s. Sam’s stomach dipped with how good it felt; slippery and delicious. 

“Nnnnhnnn, hell no.” Sam shifted to slide a hand between their bodies and grabbed Dean hard through his jeans. Dean moaned and tipped his back into the muck. His brother's hands were pawing at his clothes again, pulling his coat and flannel off. They had been out in the rain for so long, even Sam’s tshirt was soaked to the skin. 

Sam lifted off Dean to strip his jacket and shirts, throwing them aside to get even more filthy. Dean took advantage of his freed shoulders and shoved Sam backwards hard. Sam felt the wind knock out of him as mud squished around his bare back. Dean was straddling him in an instant, shoving his tongue roughly into Sam’s mouth. 

“Touch my cock Dean,” Sam managed around his brother's tongue. He felt Dean grin against his lips. 

Dean dragged a muddy, calloused hand down Sam’s torso. He roughly undid his pants and grabbed his hard cock through his boxers. Sam let out an embarrassingly loud grunt; it felt fucking incredible. 

“Off, take them the fuck off,” Sam squirmed in the muck as Dean teasingly snapped the waistband of his boxers. 

“You're such a bossy fuck,” Dean rasped. Dean yanked his jeans down as Sam hastily toed his shoes off. Soon his bare ass was squishing into the mud and Dean was undoing his own pants staring down at Sam, eyes heavy with arousal. There he was kneeling between Sam’s legs, his fully naked, fully erect, older brother and Sam was too wrecked to give a fuck about how insane that was. Before Dean could get back on top, Sam tried to reassert dominance but Dean evaded him and pushed him down on his chest.

“Nuhuh little bro,” Dean murmured. He pressed himself on top of him and rolled his hips, sliding his cock between Sam’s slick cheeks. Despite laying there pissed off that Dean was getting his way, Dean’s shaft was brushing against his hole and making his breathing stutter. “You have such a sweet little ass Sammy,” Dean groaned, pushing his ass cheeks together for more friction. 

_Fuck that._ Sam flipped over with some effort but Dean refused to lose control. Sam yanked him down by the neck to kiss him deeply, getting Dean good and messy. Dean began sliding and rubbing his dick against Sam’s, moaning into Sam’s mouth, slipping around on top of him. God it felt good, but it wasn't enough. He scraped his fingers up Dean’s back realizing he was relatively clean. That won't fucking do. 

Sam flipped Dean onto his back causing him to yelp. “ _Fuck_ that’s cold.” 

“Don't be a bitch,” Sam smirked and began stroking Dean’s cock before he could complain further. It seemed he was doing a great job because Dean was swearing profusely, his abs clenching with the attention Sam was giving him. Sam was rubbing his dick on Dean’s thigh, as they made out sloppily like teenagers. 

“ _Fuck_ Sam, you're going to make me come,” Dean whined. 

“Nnnhnn you're going to come on my dick.” Sam put his fingers in his mouth cleaning them off, getting them coated in spit.

“ _What_? Christ, I don’t know about that Sa-” Dean’s high pitched protest was interrupted by a stuttering whine as Sam slid his middle finger in his brother’s ass. 

“Holy fuck, that's so-” apparently dean couldn't find the words to describe how it was but his tipped back head and blissed out face told the story for him. Sam slid his finger in and out of Dean, stopping briefly to add a second, slowly opening him up. 

“Uhhhnnn Sammy yes, fuck yes.” Sam grinned, barely believing that his big brother was letting him do this and loving it. After adding a third finger, he was getting impatient, precome steadily streaking a clean trail through the mud on Dean’s thigh. Dean was now squirming around in the muck, muscles clenching. 

“Tell me what you want Dean,” Sam growled biting his ear.

“Your _cock_ , fuck I can't believe I’m saying this.” He raked his hands through his hair, rocking his hips so that Sam’s fingers pushed in deeper. “God, fuck me Sammy, _please_.” 

Sam grinned again, bottom lip between his teeth. Once positioned between Dean’s thighs, he leaned over to grab his wet tshirt, hastily wiped the mud off his cock, and spit in his hand. He stroked his spit over his cock and pressed up against Dean’s hole, looking into his green eyes. Dean nodded, Sam pushed himself into him, and his jaw dropped open. Nothing could have prepared him for how fucking good Dean’s ass felt; tight and hot, squeezing around his cock, clenching and unclenching. Dean made a sharp intake of breath but didn’t balk. 

“Dean, _God_.” was all he could spit out as he thrust shallowly in and out, forehead pressed against Dean’s shoulder. He felt Dean’s body relaxing from the initial thrust and began fucking deeper. Dean moaned and arched into him. “How does my cock feel?” 

“Fucking awesome, Sammy,” Dean panted, hands coming up to rake over his back. 

Hearing this made Sam pull back and fuck into Dean until he bottomed out. He lifted his head to watch his brother as he began fucking him harder and faster. Dean looked completely destroyed; beautiful lips parted, eyes rolling back, the most delicious sounds coming from deep within his throat. It almost put Sam over the edge right then and there.

“Fuck me harder,” Dean almost whimpered. Sam lifted himself into his knees and began pounding into Dean’s ass, pressing him deeper and deeper into the mud.

“God yah, Dean take it, take my cock,” Sam growled, he definitely was getting close now that he had such an amazing view of his absolutely filthy brother laid out just for him. 

“Grab my dick, I want to come.” Dean was writhing, fucking himself into Sam so their bodies smacked together. 

“I told you, you're coming on my cock, big brother,” Sam panted, pinning Dean’s hands down so he couldn't touch himself. He angled his hips knowing it would hit Dean’s sweet spot; he was being bull-headed but he wasn't _evil_. 

Dean moaned with abandon and bucked his cock against Sam’s mud-slick stomach. It wasn't long before Dean was coming hard and adding to the mess between them. Sam kept thrusting, wanting to fuck him through the aftershocks before he spilled his come deep inside his brother’s ass. He collapsed on top of Dean, heart hammering, now appreciative of the cool rain on his dirty, sweaty back. 

“That was insane.” Sam finally broke the silence after pulling his cock out of Dean and flopping back down in the mud. 

“Jesus, what a temper tantrum,” Dean said, pushing Sam’s shoulder weakly. “Feel better now, bud?” 

“I told you I'd kick your ass, but this was _way_ better.” 

***

Early dawn light illuminated Baby as she finally came into view. The boys shuffled towards her in their underwear and tshirts, carrying the rest of their ruined clothes. Dean had abandoned his shoes an hour ago, unable to put up with the discomfort any longer, the pain in his inexperienced ass was quite enough to deal with. The rain had finally let up, but that meant that the mud was now partially dry and caking on their skin and hair. Sam dragged his feet to the passenger side but Dean kept the doors locked. 

“C’mon Dean hurry up.” Sam whined. 

“If you think we’re getting in her without protection, you're fucking nuts.” Popping the trunk, Dean rummaged out the box of garbage bags they usually earmarked for dead body clean up and, every once in a while, actual garbage. He plucked out a few, and tossed the box to a bitch-face blaring Sam. 

“Cover the seats and the floor good.” 

Once the interior was to Dean’s satisfaction, he slid in and tried the ignition. “Come on darlin’ you can do it,” he crooned. She started without a hitch and Dean whooped. 

“Hey Sammy,” he pointed to the clock on the dash, looking towards his brother. “Once we’re cleaned up, the diner will be open for breakfast.” 

Sam nodded and tipped his head back, closing his eyes. “On one condition: we never hunt a fucking hobgoblin ever again.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first prompt fill and it was a blast! If you liked it, let me know. Comments bring me joy!
> 
> Y'all should recognize the song Dean's singing it's been on the show at some point mid series or so: Beautiful Loser by Bob Seger. I thought it would be fitting for our two dorks tied to a tree! 
> 
> Full Prompt:  
> The brothers end up on a disaster of a hunt. Everything that can go wrong on it does go wrong. The car gets cursed and won’t start, stranding them by the forest their quarry resides in.
> 
> It rains non stop. Their guns jam. Sam slips and falls three times, and then when they do catch up to the hobgoblin responsible for all of it, they end up tied to a tree for six hours until they manage to get loose and in the end, Dean has to beat the thing to death with a rock.
> 
> On the way back to the car, they’re tired and grumpy and tempers flare and they start fighting. When they end up on the ground, rolling around, it’s on the mud and soon they’re coated with it, and Sam suddenly kisses Dean.
> 
> Soon, they’re both naked, and covered in mud and, well, they work out their tension like that.
> 
> Dean has to put garbage bags over the seats though before he’ll let either of them get back in the car.


End file.
